Small(ville) Writer's Block
by Drusilla Lance
Summary: DP has writer's black and gets a visit from her muses. If you're not reading "After the Storm," you won't understand this.


"You should be writing."  
  
"Huh? Wha?" The girl with brown hair looks around.  
  
"You should be writing." The voice was different from the first. It wasn't as dark or evil. The girl looks around, seeing no one save her black cat. She goes back to staring at he computer moniter, feeling rather depressed and bored. School had just started and she wasn't feeling 100 percent.  
  
"Hello-oh! Did you not just hear my friends?" This time the voice was female and snarky.  
  
The girl slams her mouse down and gets up from her chair, feeling rather upset that someone dare bother her, and a little frightened that three people had managed to get into her apartment. "Who the hell are ya and whaddya want?!" She scans the room, the hallways, looks out the window and sees no one save her cat, who seems to be oblivious to the fact that someone's there.  
  
The girl sighs and sits back down in her chair and mumbles to herself, "Great.I'm hearing things."  
  
"Damn straight," the darker voice says.  
  
The girl tries to ignore the voices. Suddenly she feels a hand on her shoulder. Instinctively, she jumps up, grabs the hand and puts it in a wrist lock behind the man's back, as she had been taught. She kicks him in the back of the knee in order to bring him to the ground and suceeds. She looks at the man and recognizes him. He's about 40-ish. She lets go of him, backs away, blinks and rubs her blue eyes.  
  
The image didn't go away. He wasn't the only one in the room with her. There were nine others there. "I'm seeing things."  
  
"Damn staright," the darker voice said. She saw to whom the voice belonged to: A bald man with icy blue-grey eyes. "Now don't you have a chapter to write about me?"  
  
"No," said an African American boy. "She's got a chapter to write about me. She's one of the few people who's actually givin' me somethin' to say."  
  
"But you were in the last two chapters," the bald man argued. "It's my turn."  
  
The girl blinked and rubbed her eyes again. The people didn't disappear.  
  
The Black young man was about to retaliate when a small, dark haired girl spoke. "I think you're both forgetting something. I'm the one who's in a coma. I'm the one on her death bed. The next chapter should be about me."  
  
The brown-haired, blue-eyed girl raised an eyebrow cockily at the dark- haired girl. "Chica, you'll be lucky if I don't kill you off."  
  
The dark-haired girl looked at the writer in shock. "You can't do that to me! I'm Lana Lang!"  
  
The writer snickered. "Typical cheerleader."  
  
The snarky girl with short blonde hair looked at the writer. "I like this girl! I just have one question, though. If you're exing Lana-"  
  
"I never said I was gonna ex her."  
  
The blonde looked at her. "Oh. Well.Um.Anyways, do you think they're will be a chance that Clark and I hook up?"  
  
The writer shrugged. "Dunno. You and Lex worked pretty good back at the hospital."  
  
"It's always about Lex and Clark, isn't it?" the Black boy sneered. "When will it ever be about Pete? Pete has feelings, too. Why can't I get Chloe? She deserves someone better than a billion-dollar-baldy-boy who'll ditch her for money or an all-looks-no-brain boy who ditches her for Lana. See? I'm all about committment."  
  
"Excuse me for butting in," the man the writer had taken down earlier said, "but I'd kinda like to know what went on with Lionel Luthor and my wife!"  
  
"It was nothing, Jonathan," the man's wife said, trying to keep him from losing his temper.  
  
A man with long gray hair and a gray beard looked at the writer. "I'll pay you two million dollars to write the next chapter about me."  
  
"Oh, yeah," the girl said. "Imaginary money.I've got enough of that.Besides, I'd probably just introduce ya to a razor and someone that works at Supercuts."  
  
The gray-haired man looked at the girl scornfully and ran his fingers thru his precious hair. "Never mind."  
  
"Excuse me," a frail girl with long, calf-length hair said timidly. "But do you plan on keeping me in the story after my job is done here, or am I going to stay on permanently with the rest of the characters?"  
  
The writer sighed and sat down. She rubbed her head. Too much was going on. Too much was being asked of her by these figments of her imagination. She looked up at the red-head. "I dunno, Redd. I wanna keep ya on, but I don't think ya'd keep reader's interested." red-head with violet eyes bowed her head sadly.  
  
"Well? Aren't you gonna answer me?" Jonathan Kent asked.  
  
"Hey! How about me?" The writer looked at a tall young man with black hair and stunning blue eyes. "I mean.The show's built around me. Shouldn't I get my own chapter. And am I going to be with Chloe or Lana?"  
  
The writer rubbed her temples again. "I dunno.How 'bout Lois Lane?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Oh great!" Chloe exclaimed. "It's bad enough I have to compete with Lana 'I'm-so-perfect' Lang, but now you'd have me compete with my own cousin?! I swear, when your story's complete I'm putting a bad review in the Torch."  
  
The writer continues to rub her temples.  
  
"Five million!" Lionel Luthor shouted. "And I get to keep my hair and beard!"  
  
"The next chapter should be about me!" Lex argued with Pete.  
  
"Why? Because you're white? Y'know, I was white in the comic books. It's my turn for a chapter!" Pete retailiated.  
  
"I believe your mistaken.I have a new company to form." Lex turns to his dad. "Dad? You didn't hear that."  
  
"Hear what?" Lionel asks as he strokes his mane.  
  
"The only one mistaken is you, you Patrick Stewart wannabe!" Pete raises his fist to strike Lex and nails him in the eye.  
  
"Why, you pathetic." Lex goes to return the punch, but the writer steps in between the two and blocks Lex's attack.  
  
"I've HAD it!" the writer screams. "I'm already in a bad modd as it is! I don't need this! All of you, leave! Before I send a tornado the size of Montana to Smallville to destroy you all!"  
  
The room falls silent. All the Smallvillians stare at the writer, blinking in disbelief.  
  
"NOW!"  
  
The Smallvillians mumble and groan and curse, but eventually leave. The writer is all alone now. She flops down on the bed that sits beside her desk. "I need a life." 


End file.
